by T. R. Burns
“If that’s what Mr. Parker would like, then yes. We can arrange brief get-togethers with Kilter students and their families to improve parent-child relations. However, Mr. Parker and our other valuable visitors should remember that like bathing, time with loved ones is a privilege for Kilter students. We must be careful not to reward them too much for things they haven’t earned.”
Samara brings two fingers to her earpiece, listens, and nods once. “Mr. Parker understands.”
“Good.” Annika turns to us. “Since this is the first day of Kamp Kilter, the lawns and accommodations are pristine and do not yet require your attention. Your regular chores will begin tomorrow. However, preparing for your families’ arrivals kept our custodial and grounds crews from their normal duties on the Kilter campus. Because they’ve been helping you, you will now help them by doing their regular jobs. At my whistle, drop your shovels, form a single line, and march down the path behind tent number one. The path will lead you to campus, where you’ll receive your assignments.”
I glance at my friends. Abe and Gabby are trying, unsuccessfully, to tear the tape from their mouths. Elinor’s still digging. Lemon’s sitting down, building a sandcastle.
Annika whistles. We drop our shovels and form a line by the first tarp tent. Abe and Gabby are ahead of me. Lemon and Elinor must be behind me.
“Forward march!” Annika shouts.
We do—and fast. Soon the woods thicken. The path narrows. The trees grow taller, thicker. Their branches block the sun. The air cools. Light fades. Troublemakers stumble as it gets harder to see. I want to check on Elinor but know that if I take my eyes off the ground, I’ll trip on an upraised root and make Troublemakers fall like dominoes.
“Oh my goodness,” a girl whimpers up ahead. “Where are we going?”
“How long do have to play along?” another whines.
“There’s no way our parents can hear us now,” a male Troublemaker complains.
“Is anyone else afraid of the dark?” another asks.
Then, as suddenly as duct tape appeared on Abe’s and Gabby’s mouths, a golf cart shoots out of the blackness and skids to a stop at the front of the line. Just like the extended cart we took on a field trip to Annika’s Apex—the dilapidated amusement park—my first semester, this one has enough seats for my entire class.
The door opens. Houdini peers down at us from the driver’s seat. I notice that while we’ve been marching, he’s been changing. Instead of the cargo uniform, he’s now wearing his favorite teaching outfit: jeans, an orange T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and black Converse. His curly hair had been slicked back on the beach, and now it’s combed out and frizzy.
“He looks mad,” whispers the Troublemaker behind me.
“He’s never mad,” another points out nervously.
It’s true. Some of our teachers are more serious than others, but our math teacher is usually the most laid-back of the bunch. Yet now his eyes narrow as he watches us, like he’s trying to decide whether we deserve a ride.
I’m beginning to think the answer is no when his face breaks into a wide grin.
“What d’ya want?” he asks. “A written invitation? Hop on!”
Chapter 8
DEMERITS: 430
GOLD STARS: 150
Once the door closes behind the last Troublemaker, Houdini hits a switch. Red and blue strobe lights bounce off the walls. Disco balls lower from the ceiling and start spinning. Electronic music composed of beeps, beats, and sirens blasts. Troublemakers spin, twist, and wriggle on seats and in the aisle. It’s an instant dance party that, after digging holes and trekking through the cold woods, my classmates are thrilled to attend.
But the party doesn’t last long. Abe’s doing the worm down the center aisle when the golf cart stops short. Everyone onboard lurches forward. Abe loses momentum and slides along the floor until his forehead slams into my ankle.
“Seriously, Hinkle?” he says, rubbing his head.
“Learn how to drive that thing,” I say with a grin.
The door opens. Abe jumps to his feet. The music’s still pumping, so kids wiggle and shimmy all the way down the steps and outside.
“Oh my goodness!” Gabby squeals.
“Is that really for us?” another Troublemaker asks.
“Kamp Kilter rocks!” a third exclaims.
When I reach the top step, I understand the fuss. Houdini’s taken us to an enormous swimming pool. A dozen diving boards and waterslides are positioned around the pool’s perimeter at different heights. Nearby, a big bin holds inner tubes and rafts. Thousands of white Christmas lights are strung high above the pool. Tiki torches burn around a picnic area filled with large tables and benches. Next to the picnic area is a patio, where Kanteen chefs wait to cook us our favorite meals.
“Get set to get wet,” Houdini says near my ear.
“I didn’t bring my trunks,” I say.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” He points to a tall glass structure. It looks like the Kommissary but smaller—and filled with only one thing.
Swimsuits.
I stifle a groan and start down the steps.
“Gather round, my darling Troublemakers!” Fern, our gym teacher, declares. She’s standing on a small island in the center of the pool. Minus Houdini—and Mystery, I see as I get closer—the rest of our teachers are there with her. “First, I just want to say how excited we are to have you back at Kilter so soon. And who’s excited to be here?”
The group cheers. I look for Elinor and spot her on the other side of the pool. Our eyes meet. She smiles. So do I.
“As always, we have a lot of fun in store for you! And we’re going to kick things off with a little game I like to call . . . Fishing for Trouble!”
She raises one palm, asking for silence. When the cheering dies down, she snaps her fingers. A narrow stream of water shoots up from the pool before her. It looks like an upside-down waterfall. Something small and silver bounces on top of the stream.
“Who here has had goldfish for pets?” Fern asks.
Several Troublemakers raise their hands.
“How fast did they swim?”
“They didn’t!” Gabby calls out. “Mine just floated in a tiny bowl. I tried giving it more space in my parents’ Jacuzzi, and I bought, like, a hundred fake ocean plants from the pet store, and also one of those cute little treasure chests that open and close, but—”
“Thanks, Gabby,” Fern says, then addresses the rest of us. “Goldfish barely move. When they do, they don’t go far—or fast. Which pretty much makes them the opposite of silverfish.”
“Silverfish?” Chris Fisher asks. “There’s no such thing.”
“Smart Troublemakers don’t make silly assumptions.” Fern wags one finger at him, then turns to our art teacher. “Wyatt, I’d love seafood for dinner. Would you be a dear and catch me some?”
Wyatt rolls up his sleeves. He eyes the silverfish on top of the liquid column for several seconds, then lunges.
Fern snaps her fingers. The fish vanishes. Wyatt face-plants into the pool.
“Oops!” Fern exclaims. “Samara, want to give it a try?”
Widening her stance, our biology teacher looks up, down, and around.
“There!” Alison Parker shouts and points.
The silverfish hovers at one end of their concrete island—above the water, in midair. It doesn’t have wings so must be another high-tech Kilter toy.
Samara sprints toward the end of the island. Inches away from its edge, she lifts both arms and leaps.
The silverfish waits. Then, as Samara’s fingers are curling toward it, Fern snaps again. The fish zips away.
“Ouch!” Fern says as Samara belly flops into the deep end. “That had to hurt.”
Our soaking-wet teachers climb out of the water. Their slippery target returns to Fern’s open palm. It stays there as she explains the game.
“In Fishing for Trouble, the goal is simple: Make the catch. Reaching this goal, however, is nearly
impossible. Because the Kilter silverfish is unlike any other fish you’ll find in any other body of water in the world. For one thing, it’s computerized. For another, it can’t be baited or distracted from its purpose. Which is: to evade capture. I controlled its motion for the demonstration but will set it on autopilot for the game. Left to its own devices it will zig and zag at speeds of up to one hundred miles per hour. The only thing you have going for you is numbers. With so many bodies in the pool, there will be only so much unoccupied water. The silverfish’s escape options will be limited. That said, it’ll still give you a tough run for your money.”
“Money?” Abe asks. “Does that mean the winner gets a prize?”
“Indeed. The Fishing for Trouble victor will receive . . .” She pauses. An electronic drumroll blares through the stereo speakers, then stops. “One thousand demerits! For one thousand credits!”
The group cheers again—a thousand times louder than before.
“The game will begin in five minutes!” Fern exclaims over the din. “Please visit the Kilter Swim Hut for your game gear!”
The Troublemakers resemble a school of multicolored fish as they all turn and run toward the glass store at the same time. I lag behind. Not because I don’t want to play, but because swimming is about my least favorite physical activity. And that’s not because I don’t like to swim.
“Seamus!” Gabby squeals inside the store. “You have to wear these!”
It’s because I don’t like being practically naked in public.
“Aren’t they perfect?” Gabby demands once I find her by a long rack of swimsuits. She holds up a pair of apple-printed trunks. “And they’re the only ones here! It’s like they were made just for you! Try them on!”
She thrusts the trunks at me, then joins Elinor at another rack.
“Four minutes!” Fern’s voice bursts from overhead speakers.
“Excuse me?” I flag down a salesperson. “Where are the T-shirts?”
“Um, at the mall?” He gives me a look that says I should know better. Then he resumes polishing a mannequin’s blank face.
I try not to look at the mannequin. Because it’s male. It has huge biceps and a twelve-pack. It might be made of plastic, but it’s still way more of a man than I am.
“Three minutes!” Fern warns.
I dart to the nearest dressing room, yank its curtain closed, pull off my shirt.
“Minute and a half!”
The dressing room has a full-length mirror. I want to avoid my reflection but can’t miss my pale, scrawny chest. Its whiteness is blinding.
Anxious to get out of there, I finish changing, throw my T-shirt back on, and join the rest of the Troublemakers outside.
We line up around the pool. Our teachers are still on the concrete island. There’s not a gap along the edge big enough for my friends and I to stand together, so we split up. Abe bolts left. Gabby bolts right. Lemon shuffles to a spot near a tall waterslide. Probably because he plans to hide beneath it while the rest of us compete.
“Seamus,” a soft voice says. “Over here.”
My heart skips. Elinor’s standing by the shallow-end steps and motions to the empty space between her and Austin Baker. The space is narrow, but thanks to my barely there chest, I fit with room to spare.
“Can you swim?” she asks.
I nod. “You?”
She pauses. “I’m really good in a pool of reptiles.”
I look at her. “But this— Do you mean— Are you saying you don’t know how—”
“Time’s up!”
A horn blows. Lights flash. Fern tosses the silverfish overhead like it’s a quarter, and we’re waiting to see who goes first.
But then the silverfish glows white, spins, and nosedives down. The instant it hits water, every Troublemaker but me leaps in after it. Including Elinor, who comes up gasping for air.
“Over there!” Alison points to the deep end. She must not be thinking clearly in all the excitement, since sharing the target’s location can only invite competition.
And fast. All Troublemakers kick and flail and paddle in that direction. So does Elinor. Whose feet seem to be made of lead as she stumbles across the shallow end, still gasping for air and wiping water from her eyes.
“Interesting technique.”
I look up. Houdini’s standing next to me, studying his K-Pak screen. I sneak a peek and see Troublemakers spinning and tumbling underwater. Every half second a tiny white light zips between them, making them spin and tumble some more as they try to change directions. When I see Elinor doing the same, her cheeks puffed out as she holds her breath, her eyes squinty but open, I’m relieved.
“What is?” I ask.
“This. Staying put. Knowing that the silverfish will go where no one else is. Trusting that it’ll come back to the shallow end eventually, and when it does, all you’ll have to do is jump. When everyone else is scrambling to catch up. It’s smart.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Of course, I’d expect nothing less from our star student.”
He’s right about the technique. But he’s wrong about me. I can’t be a star student, at least not at this very moment, because I have no technique. I’m just too embarrassed to take off my shirt.
“Uh-oh.” Houdini’s face turns serious. He takes a walkie-talkie from his shorts pocket. “We’ve got a possible K-2 in Q-1. Lifeguard on standby.”
“Copy that,” answers an unfamiliar voice. “LG in route.”
“Lifeguard?” I scan the pool. “Does that—? Did someone—?”
I stop when I spot Elinor. Her head’s above water one second, below it the next. Her arms slam the surface as she tries to keep herself afloat. Oblivious Troublemakers create a dangerous whirlpool around her as they swim after the darting silverfish.
“Send in the lifeguard,” I say, my voice thin. “Elinor’s in trouble.”
“Sit tight, Hinkle,” Houdini says, his voice calm. “Everything’s under control.”
“But she’s not a strong swimmer.”
“This is the best way for her to get better.”
I can’t see it, but I know my snow-white skin now burns red. Anger and worry shove blood through my veins as an image of Elinor lying on the ground in the middle of a blizzard, her arm hurt and face twisted in pain, comes to mind.
“Good idea,” Houdini says as I take off my shirt. “The silverfish should be—”
I jump into the pool. The water’s choppy from so many people bounding around, and that makes it hard to swim. The other Troublemakers don’t help either. As they continue to chase the silverfish, they push and knock into one another—and into me.
“Seamus!”
Eric Taylor slams into my side. My feet hit the floor. I stand for a better view and spot Elinor ten feet away. She’s drifting into deeper water.
“Seamus—” Her head dunks below the surface, pops back up. “I can’t—” Down it goes again.
I dive underwater. Hoping it’ll be easier to swim below the waves, I hold my breath and open my eyes. Without goggles I can only make out colors and figures. Elinor’s swimsuit is emerald green. Locating that shade, I kick hard and head for it.
I’m halfway there when Elinor disappears. The other Troublemakers vanish. I can still feel my arms and legs, but I can’t see them. I can’t see anything. The whiteness is too bright, the water too rough.
“There it is!” a muffled voice shouts.
“Out of my way!”
“It’s MINE!”
The muffled voices get louder. I close my eyes. Open them again. Press my lips together to keep from gasping in a gallon of water.
The silverfish. It’s right before me, floating in front of my face. It’s glowing softer now, so I can make out its shiny fins and tiny metal scales. Its black, lifeless eyes seem to stare right at me, daring me to reach for it.
Dozens of hands emerge from the surrounding whiteness. The silverfish lingers a second more, then zips out of their reach—but stays within mine. If it doesn�
�t move again I can reach it in two kicks.
But then I glimpse a flash of red.
Elinor’s hair.
My heart lunges. I kick twice. Away from the silverfish.
And toward Elinor.
Her braid drifts behind her in the rough water, so I reach it first. Still kicking, I stretch one arm as far forward as it’ll go. I don’t want to hurt her neck, but if I tug the end of her braid just enough to close the gap between us, then—
“What the—”
The words escape my lips before I can stop them. Water gushes into my mouth, down my throat. Something has me from behind. It takes all of my strength to blow out the water and clamp my lips shut. Trying not to choke, I kick and paddle as hard as I can.
It’s no use. I move backward, not forward. The green ribbon at the end of Elinor’s braid grows smaller.
Paddling even faster, I glance behind me. I expect to see Austin Lewis or one of my bigger classmates pulling me away from the silverfish. Instead, I see a propeller. Like the kind motorboats have.
Only this one’s ten times bigger.
I kick harder. The propeller blades spin faster. My heart hammers. My lungs burn. I try not to picture my legs being sliced and diced like paper through Dad’s favorite shredder—but I do anyway.
The liquid vortex drags me from the deep end and across the shallow end.
“Elinor!” I cry out.
Water clogs my throat, fills my lungs. I’m pretty sure I’m drowning as I’m sucked out of the pool . . . and into complete darkness.
Chapter 9
DEMERITS: 430
GOLD STARS: 650
What was that about?”
My eyelids snap open. I realize that I can see. But I’m not looking at the clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds of heaven. Or the flickering red flames of that other place—since, let’s face it, my recent behavior doesn’t deserve a warm welcome anywhere else.
I see a silver lamp. A white velvet couch. A glass desk. A chair made of diamonds. A white leather lounge chair, which I’m lying across.
Annika. Wearing a long white dress and standing by a wall of water.